


kimono my house

by trainspotted



Category: MASH (TV)
Genre: Humor, M/M, proud to be the first fic in the henry/klinger tag, um... henry and klinger Bi
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-29
Updated: 2020-12-29
Packaged: 2021-03-10 21:01:36
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,167
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28403676
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/trainspotted/pseuds/trainspotted
Summary: What he wants to tell Klinger is 'I'm busy - I don't have time for another darned section 8 scheme right now.' Instead, he says, "Cleavage," and instantly buries his burning hot face into his hands, accidentally pricking his finger on the sharp edge of a lure.(aka nobody else has written henry/klinger fic and i wanted to kickstart a movement with my mediocre writing skills)
Relationships: Henry Blake/Maxwell Klinger
Comments: 15
Kudos: 29





	kimono my house

**Author's Note:**

> hello lgbt community

Corporal Maxwell Q. Klinger looks exactly like Henry's wife.

That is - if his wife were a hairy, chicken-legged Lebanese man in his late thirties with impeccable taste in lingerie.

Alright, so Klinger doesn't look the slightest bit like his wife. At all. But Lieutenant Colonel Henry Blake has to justify his attraction to the other man somehow, and he's much too bogged down in Important Military Business to try and think of a better reason.

Henry makes another carefully calculated crease in the origami swan he's been folding out of another complaint from Frank - or at least he tries to, because now Radar's gliding through the doors like he owns the place (and he kind of does). "Uh, sir, Klinger wants to see you, sir," he manages to get out, in that rushed, reedy tone of his, and before Henry can tell Radar what Radar probably already knows, Klinger's waltzing in.

"Yo, Klinger," greets Henry.

"Who's Klinger," says Klinger.

Henry tries to look Klinger in the eye, to give him a 'really, you're doing this now,' look, but gosh darnit, that new dress is low cut. Eyes and mind wandering in tandem, he - rather distractedly - wonders if Radar can tell what he's thinking. 'Cough if you can hear me', he says, in his head, to himself (to Radar? that kid scares him sometimes).

Radar, baby-fat-plush face flushed as pink as the inside of the undercooked chicken in the mess tent, chokes out, "Uh," and begins to let out a series of obviously fake coughs. Henry, too, begins to flush, all of the blood in his body torn between his face and Little Lieutenant Colonel.

What he wants to tell Klinger is 'I'm busy - I don't have time for another darned section 8 scheme right now.' Instead, he says, "Cleavage," and instantly buries his burning hot face into his hands, accidentally pricking his finger on the sharp edge of a lure.

"What," says Klinger, dark eyes glancing down at where his low, lacy neckline begins, the flat expanse of his down-covered chest peeking out. "I know I ain't blessed in certain areas, sir, but you don't gotta point it out like that," and he walks out, skirt swishing around his shapely legs.

Henry sighs, not really feeling like going after the corporal, shifting around to ease the tightness in his military-issues underwear. "Radar,"

Radar, still raw-chicken pink and looking rather embarrassed, whispers, "I'll make sure to tell everyone you're busy, sir," and nearly trips over his tiny feet rushing out of the office.

The Lieutenant Colonel groans in relief, unbuttoning his pants and pulling down his boxer briefs at the front. He glances down at his desk - and immediately turns the picture of his wife and children smiling up at him around so he doesn't have to look at their angelic faces while he masturbates over a crossdressing corporal. After all, a man's gotta do what a man's gotta do when he's in a war zone miles and miles from home. Then he's ready to go, hot, callused fingers gliding over painfully hard flesh, he's been waiting for this, and -

"Hi, Henry," Pierce chimes, him and McIntyre walking gleefully into the room.

"I told them you were busy," adds Radar from behind them. 

\- 

A few days later, Henry's in his office, as he always is, attempting to think up a way to get out of giving tonight's lecture on venereal disease. After all, his outfit is comprised of grown adults. Surely they all knew about STDs by now - well, if they don't, that's their own fault, he reasons. Except for Radar - who he certainly hopes is not 'doing it' yet. He makes a mental note to sit the kid down and have a talk about the birds and the bees later, father to son. Or... Lieutenant Colonel to Corporal. He's about to grab his favourite pen - the one that he brought from home with little pictures of rainbow trout all over it - and write a note, but the sound of heels clicking drags him away from his thoughts.

"Klinger, if it's about a section 8, I don't wanna hear it today," he states, tired eyes glancing up at the corporal. Klinger's wearing an especially eyecatching outfit today - a silky black kimono with blossoming red camellias printed all over it, obi tied lower and looser than formally acceptable and the cups of a matching, lacy red bra fully in sight as a consequence. He plops himself down into the chair opposite Henry, manspreading comfortably.

"It ain't today, sir, but I'll be back on it tomorrow," he winks, then fidgets a little, bony fingers twisting the strap of his bra. His eyes purposefully avoid Henry's. "Colonel Blake, a guy can get lonely around here, y'know," he starts.

Henry lets out a laugh that's supposed to be reassuring and casual but comes across frantic and nervous. "HE SURE CAN, CORPORAL!" he yells. Then he takes a long swig of brandy from the bottle on his desk.

Carefully, Klinger watches this display. "And I've seen you eyein' me up lately, sir. I saw you peekin' up my circle skirt when I changed the light in here the other day," he brings up, as if it's the most normal thing in the world to mention.

"Wha-a-at are you talking about, Klinger? Me? That'd be ridiculous, if it were true, which it isn't,"

"Oh yeah? What lingerie was I wearing that day?" 

Mouth hanging open dumbly, Henry blurts out, "Black lace. That is - lack blace. I meant track race. Race track," He chokes on his own spit, coughs a few times, and takes another swig of his brandy. "KLINGER!"

"All I'm saying, sir, is that if you wanna meet in the supply tent at twenty-one-hundred hours, I'll be there." 

Henry stares at him with hearts in his eyes.

\- 

A little bit later on that day, in the Swamp, Hawkeye Pierce is sitting on his cot and flipping through an issue of Physique Pictorial, ogling the various nude men as he waits for his Nurse Date Of The Week. "Radar," he calls to the nearby corporal, "you mind doin' me a favour?"

"What is it, sir?" Radar smiles weakly up at him, earning a pat on the head from the surgeon.

"Is there any way you can get your old Aunt Hawkeye some hors d'oeuvres for his rendesvous with a lady friend in the supply tent tonight?" 

The short corporal frowns up at him, looking rather offended. "I don't know what a 'whores dover' is, Hawkeye, but it doesn't sound like somethin' you should be sharing with a lady. And anyways, no can do, sir, because I know another couple will be in there tonight."

"Is it my favourite young lovers, Frank and Hotlips?" smiles Hawkeye, making kissy noises. 

"No, sir,"

"Not that old devil Henry and a nurse of his own, then, eh?" 

Radar turns beetroot red and stutters a little before managing to get out, "Gee, sir, I'm on orders not to say."

**Author's Note:**

> hello again lgbt community hope you enjoyed


End file.
